


Extra lessons

by Sansastarklives



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-06
Updated: 2013-06-06
Packaged: 2017-12-14 04:30:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/832761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sansastarklives/pseuds/Sansastarklives
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sansa is intrigued to find that she has a new history teacher. (Au: Sansa is a pupil and Petyr is a teacher)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Sansa was intrigued when she found out that her class would be having a new teacher. Her mind wondered about what her new teacher would be like. Would it be a man or a woman? Would they be nice or strict? Tall or short? Young or old?  
A small man in his thirties, with brown hair, which was turning grey at the sides, and a small moustache walked into the room. He forced a cough and stared the class into silence. He wore jeans, a grey shirt and a blazer, which had swede patches at the elbows.  
As soon as he started the lesson, Sansa could tell that he was intelligent. He was constantly looking at pupils in the class, and taking down notes about them, smiling to himself. At first Sansa thought nothing of it, but when his grey green eyes landed on her, she couldn't help but blush. He quickly wrote something down, his lips twisting at the corners.  
By the time class was over, Sansa had learnt all about the late King Robert and how he came to power. Sansa found it so interesting, that her mouth hung open all lesson as she took in every word he said. As everyone left there class, the teacher watched, still taking down notes. "Miss Stark," he called with his husky voice. She turned sharply, her eyebrows merging as she wondered what she could have possibly done wrong.  
"Yes, Mr Baelish?" She whispered, her cheeks blushing. She walked over to his desk, waiting for the last pupils to leave.  
"Don't worry, Sansa: you're not in trouble." He chuckled, waiting for her reaction. "Please, take a seat. You're very smart, aren't you?" A smile laced across his lips, but Sansa noticed that the smile did not quite reach his eyes. "I could tell that you enjoyed learning about Robert's rise to the throne. I expect you'd like to learn more about the Iron throne?" His eyes narrowed, watching Sansa so closely that she felt naked under his stare.  
"Yes, sir. The history of the throne is my favourite subject in history. Is this year's course about the Iron throne?" She looked up expectantly, hoping.  
"Sadly not, but I would only too happy to teach you about it after school. I run a chess club on Fridays, so if you want to you can come along tonight and I can teach you about the game. Only if you want to, mind." Once again he smiled, but again it didn't reach his eyes.  
"Really? Are you sure? Yes, I'd love to." Sansa's smile dropped when a thought crept across her mind. "Wait, will I have to play chess?"  
"No." His voice seemed mocking. "You don't have to play chess, you just learn about the game."  
"The game?"  
"The game of thrones, that's what the history of the Iron throne is referred to. I will see you at half three this afternoon then."

 

As Sansa walked towards the library, she couldn't help but wonder about Mr Baelish. He was older than her, but he was handsome. Not handsome like Loras Tyrell in her year, but still handsome. She wondered why he wanted to teach her about the game of thrones, but couldn't. Maybe he's just being nice, she thought to herself.  
The chess club was located at the end of the library, hidden away from the rest of the world. There were about ten or eleven students in the club, but Mr Baelish didn't seem to mind. He smiled at Sansa when he saw her.  
"Ah Sansa, I was being to wonder whether you were going to come." He laughed. She sat down opposite him and waited patiently. He dove into the lesson straight away, smiling every time she answered something correctly. 

Sansa's lessons continued every Friday for the next six weeks. She had become close with her history teacher, and the earlier awkwardness had disappeared. Sansa loved her lessons and she was beginning to suspect that Mr Baelish did too. He seemed more alive when he taught her on a Friday, than he ever did in any of his normal history lessons.  
One day Sansa worked up the courage to ask him about the notes he made in class. He had smirked when she asked him.  
"So you noticed that? Well I believe that I am quite good at reading people, Sansa. Whenever I have a class I like to try and learn as much as I can about my pupils. I make the notes to remember how they act at different times and with different people. I suppose it sounds strange to you, but I studied psychology, so I know all about this stuff." He watched Sansa think for a moment, until she finally gave a small, slow nod. "Here, look at this. See that woman over there?" With one slim finger he pointed at a tall, thin woman with golden, curly hair. "See the wrinkles around her eyes and the way her lip is slightly shaking. She also wringing her hands, and pacing about. Her movements are clumsy, and quick, it's like she's waiting for something. The way she's glancing around suggests that she doesn't want anyone looking at her. From the way she's shaking, I'd say that she maybe addicted to something and from the small specs of red on her collar, I think it's alcohol." Sansa's blue eyes widened in shock. The fact that Cersei was an alcoholic was no secret in her school, however there was no way that Mr Baelish could have known that.  
"That. Was. Amazing." Sansa gasped. "Could you teach me how I do that? Please." She bit her lip, hoping that she hasn't come across as rude, but his smiling face that her that there was nothing to be worried about.  
"Of course, Sansa. Since I'm teaching you about the game of Thrones on Fridays, how about I teach you on Wednesdays?" Sansa nodded, quickly. She felt like the luckiest girl alive for having such a wonderful teacher. She turned around and saw the Hound walk into the library, she turned away quickly, letting her head hang down.  
"Are you okay, Sansa? Does he scare you or something?" Me Baelish looked at her with a concerned face.  
"No. It's just that my ex Joffrey nicknamed him the Hound and well he's just so..." Sansa didn't know how to finish her sentence, so just let the silence hang there, but Baelish seemed to understand.  
"Do you know the story of how he got his burn marks, Sansa? No? Well, I could tell you, but you have to promise me not to tell another soul. Okay? Not. Another. Living. Soul." He raised his eyebrows and tilted his head forward. When Sansa nodded, he leaned in close. She could feel his breath on her neck as he whispered the story to her. "Terrible tragedy. When 'the Hound' was younger he was playing in the garden. There was bonfire in the garden, where his older brother was burning the rubbish. The Hound was playing with his brother's football and accidentally kicked it over the wall. It would have taken all of three minutes to get the ball back and well, his brother wasn't happy about that. His parents found the Hound screaming in the back garden later. He was in agony , his face was practically melting. Now his brother and he claim that he tripped and fell backwards into the fire. However the truer story is quite different. The Hound's brother grabbed him, in a fit of rage, and held him over the flames until his face melted. Just because of the football." Sansa's eyes widened and her face portrayed that of pure shock. Baelish nodded his head in understanding. "I know, right? But Sansa I hope I don't need to tell you how important it is that no one hears that story-"  
"I know. I promise that I won't tell anyone."  
"Good. Oh, I need to go and talk to Mr Clegane for a moment. It might take a while, but could you please wait here and mind my briefcase? Thanks." As Baelish walked away, Sansa's eyes drifted towards the briefcase and an idea came to mind. He had told her that he would be awhile, so it's not like he'd know. She carefully lifted his notebook out of the case, remembering where exactly it had been. With delicate fingers, she turned the pages until she found S. her eyes searched quickly, darting up every so often to make sure that no one was watching her, then she found it.  
Stark, Sansa:  
Bright. Listened to every word said. Eager to learn.  
Game of thrones  
Smarter than suspected.  
Shy.  
Growing confidence.  
Then crossed out at the bottom of the page read: pretty. He had crossed it out, but the letters were still visible. Sansa stared at the word for what felt an eternity. Pretty? Did he like her? Is that why he'd been doing these lessons with her? She was so confused and her head started to spin. She replaced the book back and closed her eyes.  
No, he was just her teacher. Anything else would just be wrong. Wouldn't it? Sansa had thought of him as attractive, but then she began to wonder. If any other teacher had have asked her whether she wanted private lessons, then she would have probably declined. Why had she said yes to Baelish then? She sighed and opened her eyes. To her surprise Baelish was sitting across from her, making her jump in shock.  
"Sorry, Sansa. I didn't mean to frighten you." She hasn't heard him sit down. Why didn't he cough or something to tell her that he was there? She smiled.  
"Sorry, I was just in a world of my own."  
"I found a book about the game of thrones, which I think you'd like. Come to my office and I'll get it for you."

His office was a small room, with a large desk covered in papers and two chairs filling it. He gestured towards the chairs and began to rummage around for the book. Finally he produced a small blue book with fancy white writing. It looked old and expensive and something that she couldn't possibly take.  
"No, I couldn't. What if it gets ruined before I give it back to you?!"  
"Sansa it's a gift I don't expect you to give it back to me. Just be careful with it."  
"But it must have cost a fortune!"  
"Shut up and take it already," he laughed. Sansa carefully placed the small book into her bag, her face beaming.  
"Thank you so much, sir." His eyes narrowed and he dismissed her thanks with a wave of his hand.  
"During these lessons you can call me Petyr, but not in normal lessons, of course." He smiled and Sansa couldn't help but blush.  
"Thank you, Petyr." She stood up to leave, and slowly made her way to the door. When she reached the door she turned and hugged him. "It's the best gift I've ever gotten. I cannot thank you enough." For a moment, Petyr was stunned by the hug. He stood still for a moment, before lifting his arms and hugging her back. She leaned her head back, arms still wrapped around him. They smiled at each other, and she went to speak, but suddenly his mouth was on hers.  
His tongue gently parted her lips and she willingly opened them. His tongue moved around her mouth with such passion and desperation that it shocked Sansa. He pulled her closer to him, pressing her against the door. One of his hands moved from her back to her chest. He squeezed her breast from over her dress. She groaned quietly as his kisses trailed along her neck. His hands moved to the top of her dress and he pulled it off, throwing it to the side. He rid her of her bra too, his hand squeezing her pale breasts. He pinched her nipple, watching her face with hungry eyes. A gasp escaped her lips and he shook his head.  
"Quiet, sweetling. We don't want anyone hearing us, do we?" He whispered. He lowered his head to her left breast. He smothered it with kisses, and began to bite it roughly. She held in her moans this time, but couldn't help but smile. When he left breast had turned pink with his bite marks, he moved his attention to the right one. He gently kissed it, but Sansa yearned for his teeth. He teased her, by gently biting on her breast. He did this until she pushed her chest forward into his mouth, and he knew he had her.  
His hand moved away from her breast and moved between her legs. He rubbed her gently, smiling at the small moans sounding from the back of her throat. His hand quickened and Sansa could feel heat rushing between her legs. She shook and dropped against the door, while he wiped his fingers against him jeans.  
Sansa ripped off his clothes until he stood there in his underwear. He grabbed the back of her thighs and lifted her, holding her against the door, her legs wrapped around him. He slowly entered her, trying to avoid hurting her. Once he was in, she nodded and he began to thrust his hips quicker. Her hips moved to meet his with every thrust.  
"You're mine, Sansa" He whispered. His breath was ragged and loud in her ear. The words sounded odd, but somehow true. She could feel her pleasure building, but there was also pain.  
Sansa's fingernails dug into his back, creating long cuts across it. He gasped in shock, but didn't stop his movements. She could see that he was almost there and was trying not to come, but she was ready. She leaned in and claimed his lips. When he returned the kiss, she bit down hard on his lip. The shock made him come and he collapsed against her. He stayed like that, even after she came. He panted loudly and moved away, wiping the blood from his mouth. Petyr examined the scratch marks on his back. Sansa stared at the blood beneath her nails. The old Sansa would never have done that. But then again, the old Sansa would never have slept with her teacher.  
"Good lesson, Sansa." She bit her lip and nodded. "Our next will be on Tuesday." He leaned in and whispered "Don't worry, sweetling. It won't hurt as much next time." He smiled and dismissed her quickly. Sansa couldn't wait for her next lesson.


	2. He taught her well

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Petyr's lessons with Sansa continue and he is beginning to see how much she has changed.

Sansa was the perfect pupil. After three months Petyr could see how much she had changed, and he loved it. She knew the ins and outs of the game of thrones, he often thought of how well she could have played in the game. She had also became amazing at reading people: it was so though she had been born to do so. Whilst learning about reading others, Sansa had become good at hiding her own emotions. No one would have guessed in a million years that something was going on between him and Sansa, and that was how he liked it. However, no matter how good she was at hiding her feelings, he could still read her eyes. Those ocean eyes gave away everything and he often wondered whether he should point that out. He decided not to, because he loved being the only person able to read her. It was so though he had some kind of power over her, the way he knew everything she was thinking and feeling. She did something strange to him. Whenever she was with him, he told her that she was his. He didn't know whether he was asking her that, or just reassuring himself. He did something strange to her too though. He had scars on his back from where she had dug her fingernails in it, but she had scars of her own. Whenever he undressed her, he couldn't help but marvel at the bite marks scattered around her body. They mostly resided on her breast, however there were a few on her hips and shoulders. He always avoided her neck: they did have to be careful after all.   
There lessons had continued on Fridays: were he taught about the game and Wednesdays: were he taught psychology. Sansa often visited his house at the weekends, discreet as ever. He cherished her little visits. Sansa would be leaving school soon, and even though he knew their relationship wouldn't end, it would no longer have the danger. And he'd miss that. It was like a game to him and he wasn't ready for the game to end. 

 

"I think I want to go away for university, but I don't know how to tell my Mum." Sansa was lying in Petyr's arms, snuggling into his chest. Her fingers delicately traced the scar which started at his collarbone and ran all the way down his front. "What can I do?" Her eyes looked up at him, expectantly.   
"Well, you can let her know without actually telling her. Maybe you could leave some leaflets around the house?"   
"No, she wouldn't notice them. She hasn't been the same since Dad died."  
"Okay. How about this? Go on a few websites for universities abroad and tell the room, but tell her to mind your laptop, which is facing her. Curiosity will get the better of her and she'll look." Sansa slowly nodded.   
"Yeah, that might work."  
"Now, can we please stop talking about your Mother, sweetling?" Petyr leaned down and kissed her. He place his hands on the small of her back and pulled her into him. Her hand slipped to his length. She gently stroked it, smiling at the small noises he made, involuntary. He pressed himself into her hands harder, and she moved her hand slower. She wanted to tease him, make it last. However when his face was practically red, and his sweat was breaking against his forehead, she quickened her movements. She kissed him when he came. Sansa felt lucky to have Petyr. Handsome, smart Petyr. Then a cruel thought crossed her mind.   
Petyr was kissing her neck, his hand moving over her body as he did so, looking for a place to rest. Sansa pushed him away from her, her face red with fury.   
"How dare you?" Petyr looked up at her in confusion for a second, before his mask returned. "You little sneak. That's what you did to me!" Petyr smiled his ever mocking smile and stood up.   
"I have no idea what you're talking about, sweetling."  
"Don't you call me that! You know exactly what I'm talking about. That day in the library, you told me to watch your notebook and I looked and I saw what you wrote about me. Y-you wanted me to look." Her eyes were wide an her mouth hung open.   
"Oh, that."  
"Yes, that. You did to see how I'd react. I can't believe you!"  
"Oh, come on Sansa. I'm your teacher, I couldn't just make a move, could I? I had to see hat you wanted and from the way you reacted once you'd read it, well lets just say it was pretty clear."  
"What?!"  
"You wanted me. Come on, you were practically throwing yourself at me when you hugged me." His laugh was mocking and it stung her.   
"I was being nice, you idiot."  
"Look, I don't know why you're so bothered. You're happy now, why does it matter how you found out I liked you?" He moved in and kissed her, but she broke away.   
"I just feel... I don't know. I guess I feel a bit used."  
"Okay, I'm sorry, sweetling. I won't ever do anything like that again." Petyr pulled her into his chest, his lips searching for hers.   
"I should go, I'll see you on Wednesday."

 

The next few days dragged for Sansa. She wasn't angry at Petyr any more, but she knew it was driving him mad not to see her. She wanted to play him, just like she'd been played. Whenever she saw him in the hall, she quickly dove into a crowd, and watched as he searched for her. She had avoided him successfully for the pat three days, but she was about to see him for her weekly psychology lesson.   
She arrived fifteen minutes late. Petyr looked at her with a strange look in his eyes. He motioned towards the chair opposite him, but she didn't move. Petyr's sigh was loud and tired, and made Sansa feel guilty. But she knew that she couldn't afford to feel guilty, if her plan was going to work. He rose from his chair and made his way towards her, slowly, waiting for some kind of signal. Sansa walked straight past him and dropped into his chair. His brows merged with confusion, and Sansa wondered how to play her next move.   
However before she the chance, there was short knock at the door. Petyr's husky voice called out "just a moment." Sansa jumped up and searches for a place to hide, but his office was so small that there was nowhere. Petyr moved toward her and pushed her under his desk, placing a finger on her lips, motioning for silence.   
Sansa heard the door open, and two sets of footsteps approached the desk.   
"Please, sit down, Varys." Petyr carefully sat down in his chair, his legs moving to the small amounts of free space left under his desk. Luckily Petyr's desk had a back, which meant that Sansa was out of Varys' view. Varys was the RE teacher at her school, and knew every single secret there was to know. People believed that some of the pupils worked for Varys, coming to him with any information they could find. Sansa's didn't breath for a moment, scared that he would hear her and listened to their conversation. However the conversation was quite boring, and Sansa quickly lost interest in what they were saying. It took all of her strength not to sigh from boredom. She hated Varys at that moment, because her plan of playing Petyr had been ruined. She scowled at Petyr from under the table, even though she could only see his legs. Her eyes followed his legs, and an idea came to mind. Sansa silently lifted her hand to his bulge and gently traced it. She heard Petyr's sharp intake of breath and smile when he came up with some clever excuse for the noise he had made. Something about a chill having just entered the room.   
Slowly, avoiding all noise, Sansa unzipped his jeans and raised her head to Petyr's length. She wrapped her lips around it and began to move her head back and forth. Petyr's hand buried itself in her hair and tried to pull her head back. However her long fingernails dug into his skin and he soon let go. Petyr's voice betrayed nothing, so Sansa quickened her movements. The danger of it all was causing a pool to rush between her legs. When Petyr came, his voice went high and squeaky. He forced a cough and laughed with Varys. Sansa sat back against the desk, waiting for Varys to leave. When he went to leave, Petyr did not leave his chair. Instead he pulled a stack of papers towards him, and acted busy. Varys left, taking his boron conversation with him.   
"You wicked girl," Petyr mocked. Petyr was beginning to see how much Sansa had changed, and he was quite honestly proud. He had made her into this. "Do you know how dangerous that was? What if he had have suspected something? What if-" Sansa wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled her down to him, web though he was only an inch taller than her. Their lips melted together, but Sansa could not stop her lips from turning up at the edges.   
Petyr pushed her against his desk, and his hand slipped between her thighs. He gently rubbed her folds, teasing her. Sansa pushed her hips downwards, urging his hand. However Petyr just pulled back his hand. His fingers were feather light on her, but small moans still escaped from he mouth. His finger teased her entrance, moving in slightly and then pulling away again. Then two of his fingers entered her, moving in and out quickly. He made a beckoning motion with them and she threw her back backwards in pleasure. She was nearly there and he knew, and just before she came, he pulled away. He walked across the room, wiping his fingers on his jeans.  
Sans panted, looking at him in confusion. Her cheeks were red, and her mouth a thin line, turned white as bit down on it.   
"I think that's our lesson finished, don't you, sweetling?" Petyr smiled and moved for the door. He waited until Sansa had brushed her clothes down, making herself look presentable. She left without so much as a goodbye.   
She had tried to play Petyr and lost, but that didn't mean that she wouldn't try again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always feedback welcome.

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry for the terrible quality, but this is the first smut I've ever written. Any feedback would be great please :)


End file.
